


I wrote you a song with the words you spoke

by tigriswolf



Series: Alternate Universe [244]
Category: One Direction (Band), Real Person Fiction, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Stargate Atlantis, Character Death, Child Death, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Gen, Genocide, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-21 11:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4827080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How people end up on Atlantis varies; some like talking about it and some don’t.  Dr. Harry Styles, Lieutenant Niall Horan, and Ph.D. candidate Liam Payne end up there by accident; Zayn of Athos follows his cousin; and then there’s the nameless runner found by SGA-9 on a dead world. </p><p>Some like talking about it.  Some don’t. </p><p>[future!fic for SGA; total AU for One Direction, obviously]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: I wrote you a song with the words you spoke  
> Fandom: RPF/Stargate Atlantis  
> Disclaimer: the fictional characters aren’t mine and all the real people belong to themselves; title from “Where Do Broken Hearts Go?”  
> Warnings: future!fic for SGA; AU for One Direction (obviously); references to genocide, the wraith eating people, and Louis’ entire family dying  
> Pairings: implied John Sheppard/Rodney McKay, definite Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson and Zayn Malik/Liam Payne  
> Rating: PG/13  
> Wordcount: 4000  
> Point of view: third
> 
>  
> 
> First note: As always, I'll take requests for this 'verse; I'd like to continue it. At the moment, there are two more parts completed. 
> 
> Note the Second: So, my sister and I have this thing where we cast various AUs for whatever new fandom we've found (and some old ones, every now and then). So, we've done a metric shit-ton of casting for 1D and it was _weeks_ after casting the boys that I actually got an idea for how to write it. *shrugs* And then worldbuilding happened, as it does. 
> 
> Note the Third: Louis' backstory is SO FUCKING TRAGIC, I'm sorry. ALL of the sad warnings are for him. 
> 
> Note the Fourth: There's quite a lot I've forgotten about SGA. Just *handwave* it because it's, like, _literally_ a decade and a half after the finale.

How people end up on Atlantis varies; some like talking about it and some don’t. Harry doesn’t mind telling anyone willing to listen: his path was a winding one, and it was all Niall’s fault. An Air Corps training exercise went wrong because of some Ancient artifact previously undiscovered on the day Niall finally had clearance to show Harry around. The artifact had been dormant for who knows how long until Harry bumped into the wall concealing it. 

The fact that his ‘ATA gene’ was as strong as some American general meant he didn’t have a choice about being recruited into the Stargate Program. Niall had a bit of the gene, too, so when he demanded to be allowed to stay with Harry, it _was_ in fact allowed. 

Atlantis always needed the gene, and even though it meant leaving Mum and Gemma, Harry wanted to go. Because Niall was the best mate in any world, he followed. 

Dr. McKay is hilarious and General Sheppard amazing, and even though Niall is put on a gate team, Harry never is. He is given a little project, though, where he tracks various species throughout Pegasus. Every time Harry reports on his progress, Dr. McKay goes into a rant about biogeography being soft and pointless, but he always waits until Harry’s done, so Harry knows it’s for show. He really likes Dr. McKay, and not just for the man’s genius. 

Of course, Niall keeps the most detailed records for Harry because he’s the best mate in all the galaxies. 

…

Everyone knows that John is actually in charge of Atlantis, but while he’s good during emergencies, he really doesn’t take to the necessary everyday details. Multiple civilian leaders have been cycled through since Woolsey; most of them were reassigned when they couldn’t hack it, if they survived long enough. 

But John likes Liam. He reminds John of Elizabeth. He’s polite, funny, and charming, with a core of steel and he handles Rodney almost as good as John does. 

Of course, the IOA tries calling Liam back, after the _actual_ civilian leader dies from Vencine flu, and tries telling John that he can’t have Liam because Liam is just the dead guy’s assistant, but fuck that. Liam’s insanely young, too, but that just means he’ll learn quicker, be less set in his ways. John can train him up proper. 

Three days after the dead guy dies, John asks, “Look, kid, I won’t keep you here against your will. But you know everything Smythe knew, right?” 

Liam’s puppy-brown eyes blink up at him; the kid is still in shock, either from John telling him he wanted Liam to become the civilian leader or from his boss’s terrible death. “Yes, sir,” he says after a moment. 

“The job’s yours, if you want it,” John tells him. After all these years in Pegasus, John listens to his instincts. Plus, Atlantis really likes him. 

“The job?” Liam repeats. “You mean _Dr. Smythe’s_ job?” 

John nods. “Yup.” 

And that’s that. 

…

As far as anyone knows, the runner doesn’t speak a word for nearly a month. He has a broken arm and several cracked ribs when SGA-9 bring him in, and the fever that would kill any Earth-born human barely seems to slow him down. The Wraith have been extinct for ten years and he looks shockingly young to be a runner – by Earth standards, he must be less than twenty-five years old. The tracking implant is difficult to extract and the runner barely survives the procedure, but he’s soon up and about, shadowing people around the city, easily losing anyone assigned to accompany him. 

Sometimes, though, he’ll show up inside Zayn’s office and listen to the gently-playing Athosian music for hours at a time. Zayn always greets him quietly and nods to an empty chair, but the runner settles in a corner with one of the binders about Athosian history Zayn’s cousin Teyla, the first liaison between their peoples, has begun compiling. Zayn doesn’t know if the runner can read English or Athosian, and it doesn’t seem to matter. 

But twenty-seven days after SGA-9 brings him back, the runner meets Dr. Harry Styles. Zayn’s eating lunch with Liam (learning about something called The Justice League, which seems _very_ interesting, and not just because of the way Liam’s face brightens) when the runner slinks into the commissary and claims three chocolate pudding cups. Zayn glances over in time to see the runner drop all three as his mouth opens, so Zayn follows his gaze. 

And there is Dr. Styles, laughing with Lieutenant Horan, Dr. Smith, Sergeant Grimshaw, and Lieutenant Lee. Captain Cardle slips into the seat next to Dr. Styles while the runner crouches to pick up the pudding. 

“Zayn?” Liam asks. 

“Of course, sorry,” he says, turning back to Liam. “Tell me more about Wonder Woman.” 

When he and Liam leave the commissary half an hour later, the runner is perched at the table behind SGA-11, Dr. Styles, and Captain Cardle, sneaking glances at Dr. Styles. 

…

“How’s he settling in?” John asks Ronon, nodding towards the runner laughing with that curly-haired scientist Rodney loves to complain about, out on the pier. 

“Hasn’t shut up,” Ronon says. He sounds annoyed but his eyes show that he likes the kid. 

John smiles as Rodney stomps into his office, Teyla following him. They don’t go on missions much anymore, twenty years after finding the lost city, but they still meet up weekly. Ronon’s partnered with the Head of Security, and Teyla is the liaison for all Pegasus natives, and Rodney is still Chief Science Officer. Things have settled and the galaxy doesn’t nearly end every week anymore. 

“So, the dinosaur planet?” John says. 

“It’ll be less stressful than the lab right now,” Rodney grumps. 

Teyla laughs as John leans down to rest their foreheads together. “Tell us about it, Rodney,” she says. She guides him towards the gate room while Ronon and John fall in behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

It was meant to be a single semester’s work, a credit toward his Ph.D. in Public Policy, and an adventure he’d be able to share with his family at get-togethers for the rest of his life. 

And then Dr. Smythe comes down with Vencine flu and dies within three days of contracting it. Dr. Smythe, who treated Liam like an idiot only good for taking notes, who mocked the military to their faces and tried arguing with Dr. McKay on things so far beyond Liam’s understanding – but that doesn’t make Liam an idiot. And he shouldn’t think ill of the dead, but he’s two months into this post on Atlantis, and his entire future is up in the air, and all of Atlantis is scrambling for someone to make decisions, and General Sheppard looks at Liam, asks, “Kid, you got this?” while one of the Athosian merchants is shouting at an irate marine, and Liam _knows_ who’s right, so he nods firmly, pulls out his notebook, and goes to work. 

He honestly doesn’t know how Dr. Smythe got the post of Commander because the man was an arse. Probably well-connected, but an arse all the same. 

They have to send word back, about Dr. Smythe, but they can’t send his body because of quarantine. Fourteen people succumbed to the Vencine flu, all told, and the doctors are still trying to figure out why. The IOA order him to return and have a replacement for Dr. Smythe ready to go – 

But then General Sheppard steps into Dr. Smythe’s office, where Liam’s been making notes for the replacement, and says, “Look, kid, I won’t keep you here against your will. But you know everything Smythe knew, right?” 

He can’t possibly mean what Liam thinks he means, because he had to have been joking when he told Liam a day ago, _Why don’t you just take over?_ But after a moment he says, “Yes, sir.” 

General Sheppard continues, his usual smirk replaced with an almost-fond smile, “The job’s yours, if you want it.” 

“The job?” Liam repeats, utterly flabbergasted. “You mean _Dr. Smythe’s_ job?” 

General Sheppard nods. “Yup.” 

Like that’s not just the maddest thing to tell a twenty-seven year old doctoral candidate. _Hey, why don’t you just take over the living city in an entirely different galaxy?_ Utterly mad. But General Sheppard just waits, leaning against the wall, watching Liam with a sincere expression on his face. 

“I’m not qualified, sir,” Liam says calmly, as if his heart isn’t pounding in as much excitement as terror. 

General Sheppard laughs. “And you think Smythe was?” He pats the wall gently as he pushes off it. “She likes you, Liam. And I think you’ll be good for us.” He shrugs, saying, “But it’s up to you, kid.” He saunters out, leaving Liam alone in Dr. Smythe’s office. 

Usually, when it comes to major life decisions, Liam makes a list. This time, he walks outside of the city proper, onto one of the piers, and stares out over alien water that smells different from the ocean on Earth. He thinks about going home, finding some other way to earn the course credits. A part-time job as he researches his dissertation. Dinner with his parents every week, fielding his sisters’ concerned calls. A life he is familiar with. 

Atlantis is dangerous. He didn’t realize how much, when he was filling out all the paperwork, or even when he attended the three hour class about it at the Stargate HQ, still below a mountain even fifteen years after the declassification. He’d thought the movies to be exaggerated for drama, but he’s finally realized they had actually been toned down. 

It’s utterly mad, all of this. He’s not qualified, not even close. The IOA won’t allow him to stay as anything but perhaps the next commander’s assistant, if that. But he _does_ want this. As dangerous and chaotic as Atlantis is, he’s fallen in love with her and all the mad people who live in her. 

So he tracks General Sheppard down and tells him, “I accept, sir.” 

General Sheppard grins. “I figured you would. I’ve already started fighting with the IOA for you.” He saunters off and Liam shakes his head, returning to _his_ office and beginning to rearrange all of the files and folders into something sensible. 

.

Each of the Pegasus natives that have migrated to Atlantis (city or planet) has a liaison that lives within the city; Dr. Smythe (and apparently the two commanders before him) either ignored them or let them do what they wished, without regard for politics or procedure. Liam can’t even find intelligible notes on the policies. His first act as Commander (Civilian) is to call a meeting of the dozen people meant to represent non-terrans. 

The goal of the meeting is simple: he just wants an introduction to each liaison, learn a bit about their people, and see if they are satisfied at the moment. Whether the meeting is successful or not, he intends to hold one every Lantean-month, and a very similar gathering for the military side of things. 

The last liaison to arrive is Zayn of Athos, and Liam’s breath catches. “Commander,” Zayn says, regally inclining his head. 

“Welcome,” Liam replies after a moment. “Um, choose any seat and let’s get started.” 

. 

The meeting is productive, and so is the next, and the next. Liam treks to Zayn’s office every few weeks with a question (that he usually already knows the answer to), and they begin eating lunch together on a weekly basis, and Liam loans Zayn a tablet that has DC’s entire universe on it (well, the good parts, at least). 

“Glad you stayed?” John asks, on the fifth month anniversary of Liam’s promotion. 

“I am,” Liam says. He misses his family, and he may never finish his dissertation, and this isn’t at all how he imagined his life going. But it’s enjoyable, nonetheless, and Zayn’s meeting him this evening for Marvel movies marathon. “Thank you,” he tells John, and as he turns to head into his office, John calls after him, “Don’t mention it, kid.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to genocide.

Ronon still dreams of Sateda, of his family, of his unit, of Melena. Of his childhood, of those happy years before Sateda fell and he started to run. Even now, he likes to believe he never stopped being a person all those years death and destruction trailed him but he knows not even Melena would have recognized the man who first met the Lanteans. 

When SGA-9 brings in the runner, Ronon goes for a jog around the outside of the City. 

.

It has been a lifetime since the wraith were eradicated. Ronon and Teyla visited every world they knew, after, spreading the word of the Lantean victory. Lantean no longer meant only Earthborn – so many others had found sanctuary in the Ancestor’s City, in the world she settled on, after returning from Earth. Ronon had been without anywhere to call home since Melena died, but he had begun to think of Atlantis as home, and he could breathe again, when the wraith were gone. 

But once did Teyla ask if he would marry again, would begin to have children in this new wraithless time. He’d only shaken his head. 

Melena had been – there is no other. Perhaps his time running ruined him. But he had only ever been stirred for her, in the end. Keller was just a wish he never truly meant. 

Ronon dotes on Teyla’s children, on all the children who call Atlantis home. He is beloved by them, though he doesn’t truly understand why. 

On Sateda towards the end, he would be considered an old man, now.

When the runner begins skulking about the City, Ronon feels every one of those years. 

.

He doesn’t know the boy’s homeworld, of course, and the boy doesn’t speak – where anyone can hear, anyway. Whether it’s his choice or something the wraith did is unclear. No one asks Ronon for help with the runner; he has, the last two times one was found, but that is because they both were utterly wild. One of them refused to believe the wraith were gone and attacked Teyla, who carried her third child, Charin, at the time. 

Ronon acted swiftly and decisively, and of the four of them, only Teyla and McKay regretted the outcome. 

The other runner refused all help and demanded to be released, so they let her go through the Ring and have heard nothing of her since. 

Five runners in twenty years – Ronon’s anger is old, useless, and he approaches the boy (because he _is_ a boy by Ronon’s standards, now, about the age Ronon was when Atlantis took him in) two Lantean weeks after the infirmary loses him. 

“How long?” he asks, leaning against the wall, giving the boy plenty of space. He’s small, slight but compact, hair long enough to be pulled back. He’s been keeping himself clean; whether that’s in the room assigned to him or not is unknown. Atlantis refuses to track him, even when Sheppard asks. 

The kid just glares at him, stepping even further out of reach. He’s wearing an old Lantean uniform, and it hangs off him. He’s definitely been stealing food from the commissary but not enough to gain back the weight his injuries cost him. 

Melena would’ve sat him down and not let him leave till he’d had three helpings of her stew. So would Ma have. 

“I ran for seven years,” Ronon says. “Damn near cost me the best parts of me.” 

Lantean years are different from Satedan years but it’s easy to say. A nice round number. Ignores the horror, and the guilt, and the rage. Beckett, Teyla, McKay, Keller, Heightmeyer – Sheppard. So many people helped him get some semblance of himself back, but he knows some things never will. After Ara, Rakai, and Tyre – 

“I know it’s hard,” he says, meeting the boy’s gaze and looking away. “But this is a good place. We won’t keep you if you want to leave, but you don’t have to leave, long as you’re no threat to us.” Ronon’s pretty sure he’s not a threat. 

Behind the boy, a panel in the wall opens. He slips into it and the wall smoothes out like no doorway ever existed. Ronon raises an eyebrow. 

When he tells Sheppard later, Sheppard nods. “Kid’s got the highest ATA count we’ve ever seen,” he says. “I haven’t put it in reports.” 

Ronon nods and the talk moves on to Security issues, and Ronon gets Sheppard’s go-ahead to beat the shit out of a marine that keeps harassing female scientists. 

(By the time Ronon gets there the next day, Yancy is a gibbering mess, Dr. Thirlwall and Dr. Edwards are grinning, and McKay just sighs.) 

.

Ronon’s grandfather told him a story, once. Well, he used to tell Ronon a lot of stories but this wasn’t one of Ronon’s favorites, and he barely remembers it. 

He watches the runner move around Atlantis better even than Sheppard and considers sharing what he does remember, either with the kid or with Sheppard. Teyla, maybe, or Zayn. If they also have the story – 

But he doesn’t. Not for months. 

. 

“Seven years?” the runner asks, startling Ronon on his daily jog. 

“So you’re talking now?” Ronon says, turning sharply. He had no idea the kid was approaching, and it’s been a long time since that happened. 

The kid is still wearing clothes that are too big but they look personal this time, and definitely not his since the shirt is for some Earth-music thing, but he’s putting weight back on. He’s also cut his hair. Good. Beckett and Keller and Heightmeyer, and the few replacements for her he’d talk to, though none of them were ever as good, they all talked about ‘self-care.’ It reminded him of what Melena used to say, so he actually listened. 

“You – ” the kid says. Hesitates, starts again, “Are there more?” 

His accent isn’t one Ronon’s familiar with, not from the running or his work with the Lanteans after. There’s something… musical about it. 

“Runners?” Ronon clarifies and the kid nods. Ronon shakes his head. “I’ve met a few, but I don’t think there were ever many to start with.” 

The kid bites his lip and the wall starts to glow a little behind him. He leans against it, seemingly taking strength. Ronon raises both eyebrows, but he clears his expression as the kid looks back at him. “Could they have made more from my world?” he asks. “Not just me?” 

Ronon sighs. “Don’t know. Probably not.” He could ask. Wants to ask. But if this kid – 

The kid nods, clearly unsurprised. The wall stops glowing. Ronon says, “If you ever wanna – talk. About it.” It’ll hurt them both, probably. Seven years of running, twice that since Sheppard and the rest gave him sanctuary, a home. He’s never talked about it. Never wanted to. 

The kid’s smile is mirthless. “I’d prefer something mindless,” he says, the words sharp. McKay uses the tone a lot. 

Ronon grins. “Wanna spar, then?” 

. 

The kid is faster than Ronon but not as strong. He doesn’t fight like he’s been trained; he fights like he learned for sheer survival, and he’s brutal. He fights to kill. 

It’s exhilarating. He’s not quite a match for Ronon, or Teyla, but Ronon would bet on him against most of the Lanteans. 

One of McKay’s minions shows up halfway through the spar, the one with the hair. McKay complains about him a lot but with that same fond tone assigned to Zelenka, and Kusanagi. Ronon can’t remember his name but McKay spent a good hour once complaining about nothing but the curly hair. 

The runner glances over and smiles; Ronon tries to take advantage but he dodges and springs up, landing on Ronon’s back. And then he laughs. 

He doesn’t fight as fierce after the scientist starts watching; instead, he makes it more into a game. Ronon isn’t sure why, and won’t ask. 

When they’re done, he says, “Anytime, kid.” 

The kid smiles up at him and meets the scientist at the door, leaning into him, and the way they look at each other – 

He spends the evening in his room, sketching with a fervor he hasn’t in a long time. There are no wraith left to kill anyone’s heart, the way they had his. He’s never truly told anyone about Melena, not the way she laughed or danced, or that look she gave him when she knew he was exaggerating to impress. 

He brings the sketchpad with him when he goes to Teyla’s meditation room. 

“Ronon,” she says, smiling up at him. Her younger daughter Charin is seated beside her, and Ronon drops a kiss on her forehead before settling in front of them both. 

“I would – ” he says but the words catch in his throat. He takes a deep breath, offering the sketchpad. “I would speak of Melena,” he says. 

Teyla smiles again, softer, taking the sketchpad with great care. “I will listen gladly,” she says, shifting position; Charin nods, too, leaning in to peer over Teyla’s shoulder. 

“We, we were children together,” he begins. Once, words flowed easily from him. He’s never regained that. But Teyla reaches for his hand, and Charin throws her arms around him, and it’s been so _so_ long – 

But he loves Melena like no time has passed at all, and it’s time someone else remembered her. 

.

Every few days, Ronon and the kid spar. Each time, the kid mentions a different Gate address and if Ronon’s been there, they talk about it. It takes a few weeks before Ronon pieces together when the wraith must’ve culled him, and it was right before Atlantis really mobilized against them. Thirteen years ago, by how the Lanteans count. He must’ve been barely out of childhood. How he even survived, Ronon barely understands. 

“You’ve been talking for months,” Ronon says. “Don’t suppose you’d tell us your name or homeworld?” 

The runner hesitates for just a moment before attacking with a brutality that’s been missing for weeks. It’s like he’s actually trying to hurt Ronon this time, and it’s all Ronon can do to keep him at bay. He finally has the kid in a hold he can’t break, even though the kid keeps struggling, until finally the kid sags into his grip, gasping for breath. 

“ _Fuck you_ ,” the kid finally manages (his grasp of Lantean language has been shockingly fluent; Ronon overheard a couple of the linguists discussing it after his first shouting match with McKay, which has already become a legend). “Fuck you, Ronon of Sateda.” 

Ronon’s hold has loosened enough that the kid slips away and he doesn’t spar with Ronon for three weeks. 

.

The kid is out on a pier with the curly-haired scientist; Ronon waits until the scientist says, “I’ll go pick up some dinner,” leaving with a kiss to the kid’s lips, nose, and forehead. He gives Ronon a glare that would probably be intimidating to most of the civilian population and about half the military. Ronon nods in reply. 

“My grandfather told me a story once,” Ronon says. The runner doesn’t do anything except glance up at him. “I think I know what world you’re from.” He sighs in regret. “I heard – ”

“I know what you heard,” the runner murmurs. He leans back, staring up at the sky. “It’s a common story, isn’t it? The wraith came. No one was left.” 

It’s not common, actually. The wraith always left people behind, so there would continue to be food for the next culling. They only culled entire worlds when they were threatened or as a punishment, like Sateda. 

“My grandfather,” Ronon says. “I didn’t really listen. It was just a legend, and not one of the violent ones.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” the runner says. He laughs softly. “I can feel – I’m the only one left.” He hums something and the pier beneath them hums a reply, which Ronon decides to ignore. “I just…” 

“Yeah,” Ronon agrees. He claps a hand to the runner’s shoulder and heads back into the City; he’s got a meeting with Lorne about the different research departments pranking each other. 

(Personally, Ronon finds it hilarious; but Lorne is right when he says it might affect morale.) 

.

He, Sheppard, McKay, and Teyla have their weekly dinner that night, and after McKay’s rant about the biogeography department (which is apparently an annoying scientist named Styles, who doesn’t show McKay nearly enough respect), Teyla updating them on Torren’s apprenticeship in the infirmary, and Sheppard laughing at the IOA’s latest attempt to get Payne back to Earth, Ronon tells them a story his grandfather once told him, about the Ancestors’ last children, who the wraith feared so much they were all wiped from existence. 

“That’s a _terrible_ story,” McKay says, mouth open in either horror or disgust. 

“There’s a lot I don’t remember,” Ronon says with a shrug. “I figured out the part with the wraith massacring them all later.” 

Horan, from SGA-11, goes rushing past the door with a shriek; Ronon shares a look with Sheppard and is completely unsurprised when the runner follows, cackling. 

“I also remember legends of that place,” Teyla says after a moment. “Rodney, would you mind if I share my great-grandmother’s story?” 

“Does it have a happier ending?” McKay asks, pretending he’s not holding Sheppard’s hand under the table. 

“Perhaps,” Teyla says. She glances towards the hall. “I do not believe it has ended yet.”


	4. Chapter 4

Harry doesn’t realize there’s a new person on Atlantis (well, there’s _always_ new people, but usually they leave after a little while) until Niall asks at dinner one night, “So, have you seen the runner yet?” 

Harry has not seen ‘the runner,’ whoever or whatever that is, because his project is finally going somewhere: Niall brought back an imprint of an animal track from the purple planet (Harry has detailed lists of their _technical_ names but he never can remember them) that matches an imprint from the monster mash planet, and there is no way that same animal could’ve just wandered through, so Harry’s been frantically going back through everything for the past couple weeks, and honestly, if Nick didn’t bring him lunch every day, he’d forget to eat. 

“Runner?” he asks. He misses Earth chips but the fish isn’t half bad this time. Sometimes, it’s really bad. 

“Yeah.” Niall nods enthusiastically, shoving chips into his mouth. “SGA-9 found him; Josh says ‘e was really fucked up but ‘e’s all better now.” 

“Oh!” Harry sits up, the bit of fish falling off his fork as he remembers, “Did you see that footprint on the volcano planet from yesterday?” 

“Harry,” Niall says seriously, even though he’s still got chips in his mouth, “I woulda told you, wouldn’t I?” 

Harry pouts, slumping back down. “I hoped you just forgot.” 

Niall pats his shoulder comfortingly. “Soph did see somethin’, she brought it back for Jesy. But no tracks, and then that thing chased us, so we had to cut the trip short.” 

Perking back up, Harry asks, “Will you be going back?” 

Niall shakes his head, stealing a few of Harry’s chips. “Nope. Next up is PX35-01, sometime next week. Storm twisted his ankle while we were runnin’ for our lives, so Paul says he’s gotta rest a bit.” 

Harry grumpily eats more of his fish as Niall’s team joins them, and they all start gossiping about Aiden’s crush on one of the Athosian girls who’s always meeting with Zayn. Aiden’s sure they’re together but Niall swears he’s seen Zayn making eyes at the new Civilian leader, and Sophia had seen Zayn with one of the guy marines before that, so. (Harry likes watching them jog around the city; the girl marines are all terrifying in the same way Gemma can be. Which reminds him that he needs to email her and Mum tonight.)

“Besides,” Harry says, stabbing the last bit of his fish, “we’re in Pegasus. None of the norms from home matter here, yeah?” 

Aiden brightens hopefully. “D’you think I should invite her to the movie night, next time she’s here?” 

“Why not?” Storm asks. 

“You’re right.” Aiden nods, smiling bashfully down at his plate. 

Harry forgets about the runner, and even though he promises Niall he wouldn’t, he goes back to the lab to bang his head against the data for a couple more hours, and is woken up by Nick poking at his shoulder with a frown. 

(And he totally forgot to email Mum and Gemma. Damnit.)

.

The same track is found by SGA-13 on Hoth and Harry wants to scream. He has to rewrite everything and nearly cries in front of Dr. McKay. 

Dr. McKay rolls his eyes, carefully pats Harry’s shoulder, and says, “Dr. Styles. Keep up the good work.” He then leaves Harry in the lab, and Harry sinks down at his desk, puts his head in his hands, and tries not to squee. Dr. McKay patted his shoulder! Told him he did good work! 

“Harry?” Jade calls, poking her head into the lab. “C’mon, we’re having an inter-departmental meeting for all the Soft Sciences.” She scowls at the label, but she doesn’t like Dr. McKay. Harry wants to hang posters of him in his room, but that might be creepy, and presumably, General Sheppard wouldn’t like it. Annoying General Sheppard is never a good idea. 

“Alright,” Harry says, hurrying over. “I need to update everyone on the footprint!” 

.

Dr. Parrish, Jade’s boss in the botany department, mentions that there’s a plant that shows up on every planet the animal track has, so Harry’s whole next week is eaten by researching that. 

It’s the _next_ week that Harry realizes he’s being shadowed as he goes about his day. 

.

“So, the runner,” he asks Niall while Niall suits up to go on his next mission. “Short, fluffy brown hair, perpetual scowl?” 

Niall cackles. “He doesn’t scowl when he’s lookin’ at you, mate.” He claps Harry roughly on the shoulder. “Good luck!” Then he’s following Storm, Aiden, and Sophia toward the gate room and Harry huffs after him, crossing his arms. 

He’s being _stalked_ and he’s barely caught a glimpse of the man at all. Of course, then he has to look around the locker room carefully and hears a slight scuffle. He sighs heavily. “Are you there?” he asks. 

No answer. He tries to silently move around the lockers and trips, going down hard. 

And then the runner is there, catching him before his head hits the floor. His knees and right arm hurt; he’ll definitely have bruises. But his left arm is in the runner’s grip and he tilts his head to look up at his stalker. 

“Shit-fuck,” he mutters, carefully pulling his arm away after he’s sure of his balance. He tries to stand up and almost goes down again because his knee really hurts, actually. Fuck. 

“Hi,” the runner says softly as he reaches out to steady Harry. 

“Um.” Harry tries straightening out his knee, which is a no-go. Double fuck. “Can you help me get to the infirmary?” 

The runner nods, backing up so Harry can turn on his good leg, but then he’s right at Harry’s shoulder again, an arm around his waist. 

“So, I’m Harry,” Harry says. “Um. You’ve been following me?” 

The runner nods again as they shuffle out of the locker room. Harry only knows one way to get to the infirmary but the runner guides him in a different direction. Harry immediately stops moving and the runner glances up at him. 

His eyes are really blue. And his cheekbones are, like, fuck. Not important. Not at all. 

“Are you takin’ me somewhere to kill me?” Harry asks once he can speak again. Without looking at the runner’s face. 

The runner’s free hand comes up to lightly smack Harry’s cheek. 

“Hey!” Harry says. But he looks at the runner, who is – frowning? It looks like the way Gemma used to glare at him when he was doing something stupid that would hurt him. Oh. “So you’re not gonna kill me?” he clarifies. 

The runner rolls his eyes. “Shortcut,” he mutters, tugging at Harry’s hand with the one not around his waist. 

“Okay, sure, yeah.” Harry meets his eyes, glances away, and then can’t help looking at his lips. In all his life, he has never seen a prettier man. “Um. Did I tell you I’m Harry?” 

“You did,” the runner says, his smile _audible_. What. 

And the wall opens. The wall. Where there’s never been a door before – Harry’s familiar with this part of the city. There is no door here. But now there is. Literally, _what_? “Shortcut,” the runner mutters again. 

“Right,” Harry says. “Yeah, of course.” He tries to memorize the location so he can update the map of Atlantis, or at least make sure someone knows about it. The pathway lights up as they shuffle along it, a soft, warm light that is just _peaceful_. Soothing. “What’s your name?” he asks and the runner’s arm tightens around him. 

“Don’t know,” he mumbles after a moment. “Left, here.” And so they shuffle left through another door that opens out of nowhere and suddenly they’re directly in front of the infirmary. 

“That’s impossible,” Harry says, the suddenness of it breaking through his mortified sympathy. Even with the lifts, it takes ten minutes to get from the locker room to the infirmary, unless you have the medic’s override. 

The runner is smirking up at him and tugs him forward. 

. 

He has to wear a brace for at least two weeks, and so long as he doesn’t strain or fall on his knee, it should heal fine. The runner leans against the wall during the examination; Paul just sighs, shakes his head at them both, and says, “Harry, you need to stop bein’ so clumsy, lad.” 

Harry shrugs. His eyes keep going back to the runner, who has a sharp gaze on the nurse and Paul both, though he spared a smile for Torren Emmagan, Paul’s apprentice. The nurse darts glances at him but Paul just ignores him past a greeting. At the end, Paul asks, “Do you have any training exercises scheduled for the next few weeks, Harry?” 

“I dunno,” he says. “Don’t think so.” 

Paul makes a note in his file. “I’ll send a message to Colonel Lorne about it, just in case.” He pats Harry’s uninjured leg. “You’re good to go, lad.” He looks over at the runner. “You’ll see him home safe or should I send Sandy with him?” he asks, nodding towards the nurse. 

The runner stalks (hah, _stalks!_ ) over and places his hand exactly where Paul just patted him. Paul chuckles. “Well, then I’ll leave you to it.” As he turns, he adds, “Harry, I’d prefer not to see you for at least six months this time, yeah?” 

“I will do my very best,” Harry promises, sliding off the table and losing his balance. 

The runner catches him with a glare. “Sorry, sorry!” he says, one hand clutching the runner’s shirt, the other his arm. “Oops.” 

“Be _careful_ ,” the runner orders, and Harry’s too lost in his eyes to notice Paul and Sandy’s shock. He doesn’t notice how carefully they watch the runner guiding him out, or the looks they exchange. He’s busy reciting the long list of minor injuries he’s accumulated since coming to Pegasus eight months ago, and it’s not long before they’re out of sight of the infirmary. 

Of course, the runner knows where his room is, and a shortcut to get there. He doesn’t hesitate at the door, just keeps guiding Harry, who realizes that it’s only around mid-afternoon. He’d taken a break to see Niall off and his co-workers must be wondering where he is. “I can’t,” he begins but the runner sits him down in the chair by his desk and frowns at him. 

“Healer said to rest,” he announces, like that means Harry’s not doing anything until his knee is better. 

“It’s just my knee!” Harry replies, trying to stand up. The runner puts a hand on his shoulder, forcing him back down. 

Harry blinks up at him. So he’s apparently _very_ strong for his size. That’s… interesting. Scientifically. After a moment, he shakes his head because getting lost in the runner’s eyes will not help him here. Or ever. “I need to get back to the lab,” he tries again after clearing his throat. “I promise, I can sit at my desk and work on the computer.” 

The runner narrows his eyes. “I promise,” Harry repeats. “It’s just, there’s this plant, and this, this animal footprint, and it’s – ” He stops for a deep breath. No one outside of the labs really cares, even Niall, and he used to bore Gemma to tears when he talked about his research. 

The runner sighs. “Tell me about it as we walk,” he says, holding out his hand to help Harry back to his feet. 

“Really?” Harry asks as he stands. “Like, you really want – ” 

“Hazza,” the runner says, “I don’t say things I don’t mean.” 

There’s something about the words, the tone, that catches Harry’s attention but he doesn’t know how to ask, so focuses instead on, “Hazza?” 

The runner blushes, just a little, ducking his head. They stand in silence that never quite becomes awkward for a few minutes before Harry’s knee twinges and he mumbles, “Let’s head back to the lab.” 

Nodding, the runner turns to wrap his arm around Harry’s waist again. 

.

As they walk, Harry begins at the beginning. He keeps going off on tangents on accident and bringing himself back to the focus of his project (tracking ecosystems over time and space), and the runner asks a few questions but on the whole he just listens. And he doesn’t poke fun like Niall or scoff like Gemma , his eyes don’t glaze over and he’s not, it’s just so amazing, he’s not _pretending_ to listen. His questions prove that. 

Harry almost asks, as the runner pokes around the lab, what being a runner actually means. Like, is it a title of some sort? The way Niall said it, though, Harry feels like he should already know. 

He doesn’t know his name. He ignores Perrie and Jesus, even when they try to get his attention, but any time Harry so much as shifts in his chair, he looks over. He keeps circling back every half or hour but doesn’t say a thing, just looms at Harry’s shoulder for a moment before returning to whatever he was doing. 

“What the fuck?!” Perrie shouts as one of the Ancient devices begins shrieking. It barely responds to Harry and General Sheppard but as all four of them watch, it floats to the runner and then just spins in front of him. 

“Should I get McKay?” Jesus asks, sounding a little frightened. 

The runner smiles, so soft and sad that Harry wants to cry. He reaches out to trail a finger from one end of the device to the other – it’s an oblong, gently curved thing no one knows the function for. And everywhere he touches, it changes color, from a gunmetal gray to a dark green. 

“Get McKay,” Perrie says; she’s the highest-ranked person in the room, so Jesus grabs for his com, which they never wear in the lab, though they’re supposed to. 

“What is it?” Harry asks, standing and limping to the runner. 

“A toy,” the man murmurs, moving his fingertips in shapes across one of the sides, forming things in colors so bright and vivid they glow. “To keep children busy while parents work.” His voice is thick, tears shimmering in his eyes. “I had – ” He cuts the words off, glancing at Jesus, who’s rambling into his com. The toy drops, clattering on the floor, and he shoves past Harry to the door and disappears. 

“What the bleeding fuck, Styles?” Perrie demands as Harry leans over to grab the device. It isn’t glowing anymore and all of the colors are gone. It’s totally lifeless. He blinks back tears because the runner had looked _haunted_. 

He shuffles back to his chair and sets the toy on the table, waiting for Dr. McKay and probably General Sheppard, since Jesus sounded so panicked. 

.

Dr. McKay confiscates the toy for tests; General Sheppard just tosses it into the air and asks, “So what exactly happened?” Once Perrie’s done explaining, he nods and says, “Not surprising.” 

Jesus still looks worried. “Why isn’t that surprising?” he asks. “Sir.” 

General Sheppard shrugs. “Kid’s got the highest ATA count on record.” 

Which probably explains how and why he knows all the shortcuts. Harry can almost _hear_ Atlantis, sometimes; he knows that General Sheppard holds broken conversations with her. There’s a sliding scale of the gene, and Harry’s at the high end. The lights and lifts work for Niall but that’s about it. 

This is probably where Harry should mention what the runner said about the toy, should tell them about the shortcuts. Also, maybe that he’d been stalking Harry for who knows how long. 

But the toy is lifeless in General Sheppard’s hands, and for reasons he doesn’t understand (yet), talking about any of it feels like a betrayal. 

“I’ll make sure you get this back when Rodney’s done with it,” General Sheppard says. 

Harry nods. Perrie and Jesus still look annoyed and bewildered, respectively, but Harry is just so fucking done for the day, so he hobbles back to the room, hoping – 

But the runner isn’t there. Harry doesn’t see him for three days but knows he’s there. On the fourth day, the runner is waiting in his room when he stops by after lunch, sitting cross-legged on the bed, reading one of the books Harry had brought from home. 

“Mum gave me that,” Harry says. “’cause it’s my name, too.” He should probably be bothered, at least a little. He’s just relieved. 

He should maybe go talk to Dr. Tyler, like Niall keeps suggesting. 

“I can’t,” the runner says. “I haven’t.” His fingers clench into fists, crinkling one of the pages, which he then gently smoothes out. “I like to be around you,” he finally says. 

Harry walks over a bit too quickly, wincing as his knee pulls. The runner frowns at him; it turns into a smile when Harry grabs his hands. “Then be around me,” he says. “It’s just that simple, isn’t it?” 

“Hazza,” the runner says. “I suppose it is.” 

.

He asks Niall, while the runner is out on a jog with Mr. Dex (who is _terrifying_ ) what being a runner actually means. 

After Niall tells him, he goes to his room, curls up on his bed, and cries like he hasn’t since Dad left. 

.

The runner finds him there, murmurs, “Oh, Hazza, what’s wrong?” and settles beside him, wraps his arms around him, and croons what sounds like a lullaby, in a language Harry has only heard him use. Atlantis usually translates for him; any language around him sounds like English, and whatever he says sounds like the other person’s native tongue. It’s quite handy, having such a strong ATA gene. 

And usually, he’d let that distract him, but tonight. Tonight, he turns around so he can wrap his arms around the runner and clings so tight his arms ache, listening to the runner sing what is probably a dead language’s lullaby, and he cries until he falls asleep. 

.

The runner moves into his room three weeks after they meet in the locker room. He starts talking to people beside Harry two weeks after that. 

“Do you know what you’re doing, Harry?” Niall asks. Harry hadn’t dated at college or university, and barely had time for quick flings while earning his Ph.D., and Atlantis happened months after that. Since being on Atlantis, he’s focused on his work, until – 

“I haven’t the faintest clue, honestly,” he admits, but that isn’t going to stop him.

He hasn’t said it, yet. But he thinks it every night he falls asleep next to the runner and every morning he wakes up to the runner watching him, that breathtaking smile on his face. He’s emailed Mum and Gemma about him, for fuck’s sake. 

. 

He’s told pieces of the story, as the weeks pass. Never the whole thing, but he puts it all together in his mind. Niall and the runner become fast friends, and Zayn seems to be close with him, too. He and Mr. Dex spend a lot of time together; Harry watches them spar, sometimes. It’s, well. Magnificent. The runner helps him with his projects because he’s visited so many planets the SGA teams haven’t gone to yet. 

Harry almost tells him a thousand times. But he wants it to be utterly _perfect_ , and he waits, and waits, and waits.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This is the second thing I wrote in the ‘verse; worldbuilding got so far away from me. It is SO FUCKING SAD. But there’s fluff, too. 
> 
> I have a few ideas for timestamps, either of the past or the future; we'll see if they happen.

He doesn’t remember his name, or theirs – but he remembers the way his mother Sang, the way his sisters laughed. Then the wraith came. He hid with the twins, the older girls out in town with Ma, and he never saw any of them again. He and the twins were culled, shoved into a cage, and he held them as tightly as he could, trying not to cry. They sobbed into his shirt and he sobbed into their hair, as people they’d known all their lives screamed and begged around them. 

He wishes he could remember their names. Wishes he could honor them, here in the City of the Ancestors, the same haven his mother once told them about, as they all cuddled together, him and his sisters. He was still clinging to them, screaming as the wraith drone dragged him away. He was awake when they planted the tracker, and the Queen grabbed his face, smiling down at him. 

He doesn’t remember his name but he will never forget the way she hissed, “Run, little boy. It’ll make you all the more delicious when we catch you.” 

They dumped him in a land he didn’t know, and he ran. He tried to avoid villages, tried to keep away from people because he never knew when the wraith would follow him. Even now, curled around Harry, listening to his steady breaths, he does not know how long he ran. Time ceased. He was hungry, and he was tired, and he never felt completely clean, and he mourned. He Sang all the proper Songs, murmured the rites, and he hopes their spirits are at peace, hope the Ancestors welcomed them Home. 

He has admitted to Harry how much he wanted to die. How he dreamed of it. Harry wrapped around him and said, “I’m so sorry for how much you’ve suffered, love, but I’m so very glad you’re here now.” 

And he admitted softly, into the warm skin of Harry’s throat, “I am, too.” 

.

He doesn’t remember the name his mother gave him, though he remembers that his mother said it stretched back generations, as most names in their world did. He wishes – 

But he wishes so many things. 

.

When they found him, the Lanteans, he had not spoken in – a very long time. He’d found a dead world, empty of all but creatures he hunted and creatures he barely escaped, because as much as he wanted to die… so long as he lived, so did his family. And so he lived, and he lived, and he lived. But he did not speak, and he never Sang. 

And they found him. Healed him. Told him the wraith had been eradicated, as they eradicated so many. Told him he could stay in their City, if he wished, or be taken somewhere else of his choosing. Asked only that he would share his story with their Legend-Keeper, when he decided he was ready. 

The Songs are all silenced, now. All but his. The ones kept in his memory. The ones he has not Sung since the rites, however long ago that was. The names are lost, back unto the Founding. The names are lost even as he stands in the Ancestors’ Hall and she lights around him, bright as the Festival of Music, when the Artifacts Sang along. 

“Well, that’s interesting,” Sheppard said. He eyed the man warily, knowing he had found an Heir of the Ancestors – the Hall Sang of it. 

But Sheppard said only, “Be good, kid. You’re safe now. Remember that.” 

Safety is an illusion, but the Hall crooned a lullaby, and now that he was healed, he found a dark place to rest, letting the City soothe him into a true sleep. 

.

He has not Sung for Harry. Harry sings sometimes, but it is just music, not the Magick from home. He’s told Harry some of the lore, and Harry’s asked him to tell the Legend-Keeper, and he might. One day. He might. That way, the Songs will live on, if only in a muted form. 

“It sounds so lovely,” Harry whispers, curled with him in the dark in Harry’s quarters. 

“It was,” he whispers back, humming just a little. Oh, it was so lovely, when everyone Sang. The City answers, but she does not sound right. Nothing will sound right, not without his mother, not without his sisters. Nothing will ever again sound right and he buries his face in Harry’s curls, tears soaking the soft strands. 

Harry’s hands clutch his, and Harry cries with him. 

.

He did not speak, when they brought him here. Not to the healer, not to the guards he escaped easily, not to the Heir. He walked every step of the City as she Sang a welcome, tried Singing a balm. She warned him of the traps, guided him through ways unknown still to the Lanteans (though, probably not to the Heir or his Council), and promised, threading through all the Songs, _safety, peace, rest_. 

For many days, he listened but did not believe. For many days, he sought only to build up his strength and then leave because the City is so loud, so bright, so busy. Too much, after so long alone. Too much, after such profound silence. 

And then – 

. 

His mother told him of the Songs when he was still too young to truly grasp the meaning. He was still too young, when the wraith came. When he began to run. He is now the only one left who knows. 

His heart Sings, when he sees Harry. His heart Sings and he will never leave the Ancestor’s Hall unless Harry goes with him. 

Even before he learns Harry’s name, he calls the man _Hazza_ in his mind, feeling a little closer to home each time. He could translate the term, use one of the Lantean languages, and he might, if he ever - 

.

The Legend-Keeper is a young man with dark eyes and dark hair, who smiles gently at him. The workroom is quiet and the Legend-Keeper allows it when he soundlessly walks in, peers around, settles into a corner that gives him clear sight of every exit. As the days pass, he grows more bold in what he borrows to study, and at first, the markings are meaningless. But the City hums, and the markings become Songs, and he learns of other places the wraith destroyed. Places that will be remembered, now. 

The wraith did not steal the Songs, he realizes, watching the Legend-Keeper work. He silenced himself. 

But his heart Sings, and the Song should be shared with the Legend-Keeper. For his mother, for his sisters, for all the people who once Sang with him, who Sing now only in his memories. 

It is raining on the Ancestor’s Hall when he tells the Legend-Keeper, “My name had been my grandfather’s, and his, and his, but I do not remember what it was.” 

The Legend-Keeper’s fingers still on his device and he looks over. “My name is Zayn,” he replies. “It was my uncle’s, and his father’s, and I welcome anything you wish to tell me.” He grabs a small orb and walks over, settles cross-legged near, but far enough to not be in reach. “This will record your words, if you’d like it to,” Zayn says. “I cannot awaken it but as one with the Ancestor’s Gift, I am sure you can.” 

He holds out his hand and Zayn carefully drops the orb onto his palm. He asks the City for the orb to awaken; it warms against his skin, and he sucks in a deep breath, and then he begins, “Once, we Sang.” 

.

He whispers the words into Harry’s curls, murmurs into his skin, bites until blood pools on his tongue and Harry gasps, and he doesn’t know the Song of Joining. He had been too young to learn. It has been months, by the Lantean counting Harry teaches him, since he first stepped into the Ancestor’s Hall. 

“You should have a name,” Harry says. 

“I do,” he replies sharply, letting his hand fall from Harry’s back. 

“No, I mean, I know you do,” Harry says, turning to gaze at him with wide eyes. “But – I just want something to call you, love. Something that’s yours. It feels, like, not _right_ that I can’t. I mean.” 

He places a finger to Harry’s lips. “I know, Hazza,” he says. He has spent hours with the Legend-Keeper, words falling out of his mouth, Songs that caused Artifacts as far away as Harry’s lab to Sing in response. The healer told him he had the highest occurrence of the ‘ATA gene’ on record, and he assumes that means the Ancestor’s Gift. It matters not – the Songs are Magick, as they have always been since the Founding. 

And the Legend-Keeper asked for the Ancestor’s Ring Song that would lead home, and he had rolled to his feet, stalked out of the room, and not gone back. 

There are so many Songs he does not know. Why is his name – his sisters, his mother. So much he remembers, but none of their names. 

“There are books full of nothing but names,” Harry says before pressing a kiss to the finger still against his lips. He brings his own up to grasp it, presses a kiss to the palm. “They all have meaning. If you really don’t want one, that’s fine, I swear it is. But I just thought I’d mention it, is all.” 

He sighs, letting his head fall onto Harry’s shoulder. “Read them to me,” he says. 

.

They begin with the Hs, Harry says, because H is the best letter. Once all have been read, he grabs the book from Harry and tosses it into the air, saying, “Start with where it lands.” 

It lands in the middle of the Ls. 

.

He does not remember the name his mother gave him. He remembers the Song of Naming – it is the first Song he ever learned, the first Song any of them learned. He hears it now as Harry reads, “Loo-ee, from Lootvig,” and he closes his eyes. 

“That one,” he says. “Read it again.” 

“Okay,” Harry says. “Um. Loo-ee, from Lootvig, via something German I can’t hope to pronounce. But it means _famous battle_? So that’s, like, cool.” 

“Again,” he says, sitting up. The City is Singing. _He_ is – 

“Loo-ee,” Harry says, meeting his gaze. “A lot of kings have been named it.” 

“That’s my name,” he says, reaching for the book. He reads the markings, hearing the Song as he traces the ink with a fingertip. _Louis_ , according to the markings. “Loo-ee,” he says slowly. And then, sharp and sure, “Louis.” 

The Song of Naming – his mother Sang it to him, and then he Sang it. He Sings it now as Harry’s room brightens around them. And Harry, hesitantly, begins to sing along. 

_Louis_ drops the book to hold both of Harry’s hands, and he leans in so that they’re skin-to-skin, and he murmurs, “Like this,” repeating the Song. 

And they Sing. 

.

He does not remember the name his mother gave him. It is lost in the madness and fear of his first days running. Perhaps, if he went back – and perhaps, he will. With Harry. With Harry’s friends. With Ronon of Sateda, and Teyla and Zayn of Athos, with the Lanteans who are from an entire sky away, some of them. Harry tells him of a world without wraith, a world with more people than Louis can even imagine. He knows the boy he was before certainly could not have, whatever his name. 

He teaches Zayn the Songs, though the Magick does not come from him. He teaches Niall, who has a touch of the Ancestor’s Gift, and Liam, one of the kings, though he does not have the Gift. And Harry. 

Harry, who gave him a new name, who breathed new life into his Song. His Hazza. 

He speaks of many things – to the cooks, to the guards, to the healers, to the scientists like Harry. He argues with the Scientist McKay (who is Joined to the Heir? he asked Harry and Harry shrugged) about Magick, and Sings the Song of Knowing to reveal the purpose of the Artifact lying dormant on Scientist McKay’s table. He laughs as Scientist McKay shrieks, and retreats victorious. 

_Be kind_ , the City hums, _child of my children._ But she does not truly scold him. Nor does Harry, later that evening, when he tells Louis of Scientist McKay’s rant at Heir Sheppard, about all the annoying strays the Lanteans bring home. Ronon of Sateda and Teyla of Athos had been laughing, Harry says, giggling himself. 

He had been young, when the wraith tried to silence the Songs. He had been young when he silenced himself as penance, as punishment. 

He is young still, for all that he feels so very old, sometimes. And many Songs are lost. But— 

“Sing with me,” he asks, reaching out. 

Harry meets him. “Yes, Lou, of course. Always.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: any. any. The last of their kind.

He tells the Legend-Keeper all of the Songs he remembers, allows the orb to record them all. He shares stories of his childhood, of his games with his sisters, with their neighbors, with the children of the town. There were many towns, and all would gather for the Festival of Music, for the Ancestors' Remembrance, in celebration for a new Song of Naming. 

Only in hindsight has he realized how happy an existence it was.

He is the only one left. He knows it deep in his bones. The profound silence. He had hoped, when he ran—but even as he hoped, he knew. He simply did not allow himself to think it. 

Every night, curled around Harry, he murmurs the Songs of Mourning, of Remembrance, of Grief and Acceptance. He sobs his way through his sisters' Songs of Naming, because he'd been there for them all. Harry never asks for an explanation, simply cries with him, so warm and strong and gentle. 

A year after he first spoke to his Hazza, half a year after Harry gifts him with a new Song of Naming, Louis tells Heir Sheppard, holding Harry's hand tight in his, "I'd like to visit my homeworld." 

He is the last. He has Sung the rites on many worlds, hoping that his people found peace. But he needs to Sing the Songs at _home_ , because he himself will never know true peace until he has. 

"Alright," Heir Sheppard says. "Let's choose a team and get things started." 

Louis nods, his entire body trembling, and Harry leans into him, humming the Song that Louis used to soothe his sisters with. 

He is the last, yes, but he's no longer alone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the same warnings still apply. 
> 
> Prompt: Any, any/any, do you remember the day we fell in love?

"Do you remember the day we fell in love?" Harry asks one evening out on the pier, the sun setting across the water. It doesn't quite smell like home and the water is a bit warmer than he's used to (for now) but it is lovely. He hadn't noticed, before Louis. Now, instead of working all hours of the day and night, he takes time to enjoy this new planet, this new galaxy, all of its wonders. 

And its horrors, too, whenever he listens to Louis' stories, whenever he kisses his way down Louis' scarred torso, his scarred back, whenever he holds Louis as he thrashes in nightmares, whenever Louis silently cries for what was stolen (and he always cries silently). 

"I called you Hazza before I knew your name," Louis murmurs, fingers tangled in Harry's curls. He does so love Harry's curls. Harry enjoys that love. “I called you Hazza from that moment I first saw you. Your heart Sang to mine.” 

The way Louis speaks about things, it’s always so lovely, Harry thinks, gazing up at Louis, his head resting on Louis’ thigh. “What does it mean?” he asks. He’s fairly certain he knows, but he wants to hear how Louis would describe it. 

“The Song of My Heart,” Louis says, leaning down to press a kiss to Harry’s lips, the top of his nose, his eyelids, his forehead. “There is only ever one, so the stories said. Your heart Sang to mine, and mine Sang to yours. I spent so long running, searching, trying to survive.” Harry reaches up to cradle Louis’ face as Louis’ tears drip onto his own. “I Sing for you,” he murmurs. “My Hazza.” 

“I love you,” Harry tells him. He’s loved Louis since he first helped him to the infirmary, since he listened intently to Harry’s rambles when no one else bothered, since he kept returning even though Harry had no idea why. He loves Louis’ laugh, the mischief he gets into, his bravery and his kindness. He doesn’t have the words the way Louis does but he lunges up to tell Louis with a fervent, hungry kiss. 

“You gave me a name,” Louis whispers against his lips. “You are the Song of My Heart.” 

“I can’t believe I had to find my way into a different galaxy to find you,” Harry blurts out, “but I love you more than anything.” 

The sun sinks below the horizon and Atlantis lights up behind them, but Harry has eyes only for Louis, and Louis begins to Sing, crooning softly for Harry’s ears alone.


End file.
